


Countdown to a Bad Idea

by Nimravidae



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Robin (Comics)
Genre: Explicit Sex, F/M, Pre-Reboot, angst but then happyness at the very end, there needs to be more fics where stephanie gets eaten out imo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-15 00:03:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4585299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/pseuds/Nimravidae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephanie has that feeling in her gut that says she's either about thirty seconds away from making a bad decision. It's the feeling she gets right before she jumps off a rooftop or into a den of criminals. Or when Tim Drake is standing too close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Repetition

Time heals all wounds.

Well, sorta.  In reality, time turns wounds into scars. It isn’t bleeding anymore but it’ll never be the same as it used to be. Something about it is off, a little wrong. Maybe it’s too numb, maybe it’s too sensitive. Maybe you don’t notice how it feels but you can still see it when you look in the mirror – and everyone else can too.

Like a warning sign: This person was hurt! Something happened! Ask me questions!!

Except don’t.

Don’t ask questions.

Especially don’t ask questions like, “How come I’m always on patrol with Brown or Drake? Why don’t you send them out together, father, and save my sanity for a night?”

Or, “—tt—I’d be worried they wouldn’t be able to conduct themselves in a professional manner with any partner considering how awful they both are.”

Okay that last one wasn’t a question but the point was made. Ask questions like that and then you’re left with a wound aching and throbbing while you’re sitting with your legs dangling off the ledge of a building trying not to look at your ex-boyfriend next to you.

The ex-boyfriend who asked you out last time you two spoke over a year ago.

The ex-boyfriend you turned down because you didn’t want to feel like you were chasing guys again.

The ex-boyfriend you kinda sorta miss every night, but not when the sun rises.

The ex-boyfriend you’re lying to yourself about just so the scar-tissue time build up stops hurting when you think of him.

The ex-boyfriend who just asked you a question. Wait. What?

Batgirl snapped herself out of her thoughts, looking up at where Red Robin was perched on the jutting corner of an air-conditioning unit.

“Huh?” She asked, waiting for a sarcastic reply that never came.

“I just asked if you picked up anything on your comms yet. It feels like a slow night.”

“It _is_ a slow night,” of course it was. Everyone was in town for some stupid Wayne event or another. Even Jason showed his hood around -- not killing anyone probably just here to put everyone on their toes. Nightwing was doing flips off of rooftops somewhere, B and R were uptown. Black Bat was in a shadow probably scarring off muggers before they even thought of robbing someone.

All in all, slow night.

Very slow night.

“I can’t decide if I like it better slow or not,” she admitted after a lapse in the conversation – looking up at where Red Robin shifted so he was sitting instead of crouching. He was idly toying with a batarang, like he was deciding as well.

Eventually he looked to settle, “I don’t get a lot of slow nights with the Titans. It’s nice, actually.” He turned to look at her, that stupidly nice smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Reminds me of the night we skipped patrol to go the movies.”

A light little lilt of a chuckle slipped past her lips, drifting into air when she remembered, “That was our first date.” That was the night she learned she was pregnant. “It was fun, a lot of fun.”

“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it? I miss those days, you know? Being dumb and young with less worries and less stress about what happens if we mess up.” He leaned back against the building, head tilted up to the stars. Carefully, she followed the curve of his cheekbones, down his throat, chest, and arms.

All the boys were flawless, of course. They were trained by Batman – every single one of them was in top fighting shape, nothing but tight muscle and ridged bones, but there was something about him.

He wasn’t as bulked up as the rest, not even Nightwing with his leaner acrobatic frame. Red Robin still looked real to her. He didn’t look like a daydream or a mythic figure.

He was just a real guy, still.

“You’re staring,” who really just noticed that.

“No I wasn’t,” she lied, huffing and crossing her arms. “I was just thinking about how stupid it is that there’s a whole night in Gotham that we’re wasting out here because literally like… no crime is happening. We’re micromanaging the shit out of like eight blocks in midtown because the rest of everyone ever is in town to take care of everywhere else. I could be sleeping, or studying.”

And there came the sigh. Not annoyed but resigned. Understanding. A little disappointed, like maybe he’d hoped she was staring at him. “Go home, then. I can cover this on my own. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

Whoops. Now she felt guilty.

“I want to stay, I just want something to happen, y’know?” She bounced up to the rooftop, shadow-boxing for a moment, “I wanna stop some bad guys and protect in the innocent. That kinda thing, sorta what we do.”

“A night off every once in a while won’t kill you.”

“Says the man who is the reason the bedroom doors at the Manor lock from the _outside_ too?” He paused in the face of her rebuttal, her arms crossed and her smirk playful. When he laughed, he dropped down in front of her, landing as smoothly and silently as Batman taught them.

Chuckles fading, he smiled down at her, “fair enough. And it was Alfred’s idea since I ‘can’t be trusted to know when to take a break,’” he even used finger quotes. God she loved him – wait. No she didn’t. Aheeem. This was her ex-boyfriend.

She didn’t.

“I’ve got too much energy to just sit around, soooooooo,” she drew out that word for as long as she could, toeing herself close to Tim. “Let’s spar!”

“Now?” He looked over towards the edge of the building, “Here?”

“Yeah! Not gonna always be facing drug dealers and Two-Face on the ground floor. Come on! Hit me with your best shot, Red Robin! Or should I start callin’ you Red Chicken?”

She got through one ‘baaaawk,’ before she was forced to dodge the swipe of a Bo staff headed for her face. That really got her goin’! She was grinning as she snapped her own out, giving it a nice little twirl before launching at him.

It was a mess of glancing blows, taunting laughs and pulled punches. She swiped Red Robin’s feet out from under him, sticking her tongue out as he fell and biting it as he kicked the back of her knee. She tumbled, while he sprang up to his feet and grabbed for his staff.

That gave her just enough time to arc, kicking it farther away from him as she jumped back up, ready with her fists raised high.

“Come at me,” she grinned, teeth glinting in the dull moonlight. She dodged blow after blow, giving him her own glancing elbow shots. They lasted just a few more minutes – feeling like hours as the stars refused to shift before he finally got her.

As she leaned too far into a blow, he was able to grab her wrist – spinning her with her back to his chest as he grabbed for her second arm. She was locked down, her hands crossed over her own back, barred with his own as her back flush against his body.

He was panting hard in her ear, matching that roar of blood rushing through her veins and heat welling under her skin. She could’ve broken his hold with her feet but she was frozen – he was so warm, so… strong.

She didn’t feel beaten she felt safe. She felt comfortable. She felt warm… too warm. Like she had a fever or something, as she turned to look at him, his cowl hiding his eyes but not his flushed cheeks and sweat-drenched hair.

Or that faint bit of stubble he must’ve missed shaving.

Or the way his arms tensed around her as her eyes – in a moment of weakness – flickered to his lips then back up.

Her gut churned, like it was on fire. The same feeling she got when she knew she was running low on grapple-line – or when she knew she would be just a little out-gunned.

Like she was thirty seconds away from making a bad idea.

“You know,” she said, voice low and heavy, “It’s a really slow night.”

He licked his lips, nodding. She couldn’t see his eyes but she could feel them on her lips. “Yeah, it is.”

Twenty-Five.

“So it really wouldn’t be that awful of us…” Her voice almost cracked with tension.

“Anyone could take over this block if something happened.”

“Black Bat alone could cover half of Gotham…”  
  
Twenty.

“And Nightwing, and Batman did it alone for how long?” She could feel his hesitation for a moment, just a moment before letting go of her hands, sliding his arms around her waist instead with a slow movement.

“You’re right,” she conceded – as though she was ever resisting. “I mean, you did just try and give me the night off, didn’t you? It would only be fair to do the same to you, too.”  
  
Fifteen.  
  


“I’ll give you the night off if you give me mine?” He asked, his lips pressing under her ear. Not kissing her just yet – just touching her. It felt like electricity, burning and sparking.

 “In that case, I, Batgirl, relieve you, Red Robin of your patrol duties,” she tried to sound official, but the giggle ruined her attempt.  
  
Ten.

“And then I, Red Robin, relieve you, Batgirl, of your patrol duties as well.” He was better at keeping a straight face, but she could feel him smiling against her skin.

“There’s just one thing left to do then, isn’t it?”  
  
Five

He lifted his face from her neck, loosening the grip he had on her waist so she could turn to face him, her palms open and flat on his chest.  
  
One

She missed kissing him. She missed kissing him a lot, the way he started out so shy and gentle like she was going to up and vanish from his arms. Her hand slid up to wrap around his neck, drawing her to her toes to kiss him stronger, harder.

Stephanie bit his lip lightly as she pulled back, tasting her old self on his tongue. She watched as his Adams apple bobbed, his lips parting for a moment before he decided to speak.

“My safe house is the top floor of—“

“I know where it is,” she cut him off, kissing him hard again, “Meet you there?”

All he could do was nod dumbly, watching as her grapple-gun hissed and sent her flying off to another building in a breath.

She could hear the echo behind her, “Hey Oracle, Batgirl and I are calling it a night…”

There was a 100% chance she wasn’t about to live that down for quite a while after tonight… and for some reason that thought made her a little bit queasy. The fact that someone else would know.

No no! It had to be the heights, right? They never really bothered her before but maybe it was just a tonight thing.

Maybe it was nerves. It had to be nerves. She tried to settle them down as she landed softly on his balcony, scanning for his security system to distract herself.

“It’s disabled, let yourself in,” came the fuzzy reply through her comm unit. Of course.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“Cameras,” he sounded almost cocky. Actually. He sounded awfully cocky.

“Are they everywhere?”

“One’s inside are disabled for now, I’ll be there soon just make yourself at home.” Idly, she wondered what was keeping him. He could’ve beaten her there even if he stopped for some reason – he could’ve beaten her here no problem, actually.

As her mind whirred, she pulled the sliding glass door open, letting it slip shut with a muted little click behind her. She took in the scene.

It was all white walls that ended at the white, plush carpeting that she felt awful having her boots on. A leather couch that looked like it was more for decoration than it was for sitting, a chrome and glass coffee table with a stack of business magazines and a well-hidden folder that was probably an old case or something.

Everything seemed so… neat. So pristine and expensive, nothing but smooth surfaces and sharp corners. So clean. Perfect and in an order exactly where it should be. No chaos.

No ruination. She lifted her boot to look under her feet, wincing at the grey dust left behind. Sorry, Tim.

That feeling was back with a vengeance, growling and surging through her body. Making her want to run. Run very fast and very far away. She belonged to the police sirens at three AM, the screaming matches from the upstairs neighbors. Cracked drywall and smudged window pains and chipped mugs and stained carpeting.

She did not belong in this life.

As she stepped forward, another foot into the penthouse suite, she had that ache around the scar tissue of her heart once again.

And if it wasn’t for the sound of the door opening behind her – she was sure she would’ve run. Taken off right out that window with no looking behind her. But those hands – those goddamn distracting and perfect hand. One settled on her hip from behind, the other pushing loose blonde hair away to press soft kisses to the back of her neck in just the way to  make her shiver and almost mewl.

Need rushed through her body as the apprehension melted. She turned to face him after another second. He’d already pulled back his cowl, letting his hair stay messy and curled slightly and his eyes dark with wanting. “Unzip me?” She asked, coy innocence in her voice as her hands trailed down to his belt.

“Why, Mister Drake,” She gasped, moving closer as his hands grasped at the zipper at the back of her suit, “Is that a Compact Remote Hacking Device in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

He laughed as he tugged down on her zipper, “Both, but my suit’s making it a little hard to play it smooth right now.”

“Tight?”

“Protection is top notch but it’s not that great for being too close to pretty girls.” There was a light flush as he said that, and she got the feeling it had to be a struggle.

A real, real struggle.

“Well in that case, you might wanna take it off there, Red Robin.” She smirked as she turned her back on him, unclasping her own belt and letting it fall before she stripped her suit off. Thank _God_ she hadn’t done laundry in a while. She was stuck wearing her cute panties ‘till she had time to wash the comfy stuff. She gave her butt a little wiggle as she started towards his bedroom, leaving her cape and costume behind.

By the time she was inside (and was obvious clambering after her judging by the muted thud and the muffled swearing) she was down to just her mis-matched bra and panties. Another deep breath steeled her nerves as she sat on his nicely made bed, one leg crossed over the other.

His suit was gone and he was down to just a tight-looking pair of briefs and damn. He looked like he should be on the cover of… something. She hadn’t seen him shirtless in a long, long time and now she wished she’d snuck more peeks in the interim. He’d grown up – really, really grown up. Hell! He looked like a freaking model! His hair falling into his eyes, his chest flushed from abs to collar. His eyes hooded and his lips parted as he scanned every part of her exposed body from the doorway.

The way he was looking at her… like she was the only thing in the world he wanted, that last thing he’d yet to acquire. And there she was, waiting for him. She squeezed her thighs together, relishing in the tiny bit of pressure she allowed herself as he stalked forward.

This time when he kissed her, it was vicious. Hard and rough as his tongue slid past her willingly lips, and she couldn’t help but think that kissing him was a lot like riding a bicycle. They fell into a synchronism, like it hadn’t been a day passing between them since they were just teenagers – before the gang war, before Red Robin and Batgirl were even passing thoughts.

Her nails scraping his scalp as she tangled fingers in his hair – his hands smoothing over her hipbones and tracing the scars of her old torture.

Sure it was farther than they’d gone before (maxing out at some awkward fumbling groping and some grinding at the tender age of sixteen) but that didn’t mean it felt foreign at all. It was like picking up a book you hadn’t read in forever but still remembered what the last chapter was.

Her chest was filled with caught breaths a light, airy moans as his hand skid along her body – up her sides and around to deftly unclasp her bra behind her. “One handed, color me impressed,” she teased, pulling away again to slip the garment down her arms and toss it aside.

“If I can pick a lock in less than twenty seconds _blindfolded_ I think I can unclasp a bra just fine,” he reminded, nuzzling under her chin in a ridiculously sweet way as his hands kept mapping out the finer points of her body.

“Please, please tell me you didn’t just attribute undressing me to something you learned from _Batman_ of all people?”

“You mean Bruce _isn’t_ a turn on?” He lowered his voice to a mockery of the signature Batman-growl, “What if I do the voice?”

Her sides ached with laughter as she shoved at his shoulder, giggles rippling through her body and replacing the cold worry she had with warmth. “Never, ever do that voice when I’m naked in your bed, Timothy Jackson Drake, I swear it’s a wonder you ever get any at all.”

“Full name?” He said, leaning back and letting his hands drag down the plane of her stomach to rest at the lace fringes of her panties. She squirmed involuntarily. He was teasing her now, wasn’t he? “Must mean I’m in trouble.”

“You are if you don’t get on with it.” She paused, “Or get it on with me.” Cue snickers. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d groaned – but somehow she thought it made it a little better than he just laughed with her, leaning down and kissing her softly. Then again. And again. First her lips, then her throat, her collar.

He forged a trail down her body leaving soft kisses every inch to make her giggle and squirm and flush a rosy pink. Those giggles stopped short into a quick and quiet gasp as instead of a soft kiss, he pressed his tongue flat against her panties, right over her clit. He mouthed at her through the thin and already soaked cotton, teasing her as she whined. She bit down on her lip to stop herself from outright moaning, not already. Not just at teasing passes of his tongue – she wasn’t that desperate (she totally was).

But fuck he was exceedingly gentle – stupidly, stupidly gentle – as he peeled her panties away from her, hesitating like he was waiting for her to change her mind. Which, if course, she had no plans to do. Her fingers tangled in his hair again, tugging him forward as she spread her knees farther. A silent invitation and demand.

He drank her in like she was his oasis, tongue working into her then rolling out to flick at her swollen clit. She could feel his fingers bruising her thighs as she twisted, whimpering and whining and begging for more. She needed more. More sensation, more pressure, more of anything.

More of everything.

And he gave it to her. He gave her all he had, shifting himself higher on the bed, he hunched down, loosening her leg with one hand to sink two fingers into her, making her eyes screw shut and her throat catch on another tight and loud cry.

She didn’t give him any warning when she came, body arcing and legs spasming he just worked her through it. Her mind went offline – turning into a weak buzz of static as she had hardly enough time to catch her breath before her second orgasm of the night edged its way up to a full-bodied roar, taking her by storm with another – louder—wail.

“T-Ti-im,” she managed, gasping his name, almost pleading… for what she wasn’t totally sure but she was sure she’d get it in the long run. Much to her relief (and dismay) he pulled away, chin reflecting the moonlight for the moment before he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. She pushed herself up on shaking arms, a little un-aware of exactly how to move her still-trembling legs, she just wanted to look at him.

See him like that, disheveled, chaotic.

“That was amazing,” she purred, getting a hold of herself long enough to pull her legs back and sit up. He stared at her – not as hungry as before, but not sated either. She was still set to be his meal tonight, that much was clear.

“Well?” She asked, crawling down the bed to where he was still kneeling.

“Well, what?” He blinked up at her, realization taking a moment to dawn. “Oh! Right. Right! Nightstand, top drawer.”

She tried to muffle another bout of laughter but he was just too goddamn cute. She fell back down on her back, rolling to grapple for his nightstand. She tried to ignore the picture on top of it. There was just the one. It was of the boys, a formal-looking setting with Damian standing dutifully at his father’s side, scowling, while Dick put up bunny ears behind the newest Boy-Wonder’s head and Tim did the same to Bruce. The pair were obviously holding back laughter. It was cute – but she had that ache that it was only half the picture. Half the family. No Babs, Jason or Cassie. Seemed kinda empty in comparison to how big the cave felt on nights like this.

She didn’t even realize as she shook off the thought to rifle through his drawers that she didn’t include herself in that sentiment.

But whatever, it was all lost to her. She could dwell come morning – because right now she wasn’t up for morning to come before she did. Once Stephanie had finally found what she was looking for, she rolled back to him with her trophy between her fingers. This was it.

He stripped as she crawled back over to him, condom in hand, and settled herself in her lap – straddling his thighs and resting her elbows on his shoulders. It was a little strange, tasting herself when she kissed him, but only a little. The taste was quickly overpowered by his own, by just his presence baring over her though they hadn’t moved.

He took the condom from her, foiling giving with a tear as he opened the package to slide it over himself. She pulled herself up by his shoulders, positioning carefully as his arms secured themselves around her waist again. She sunk down onto him slowly – feeling him fill her as perfectly as someone could. Her lungs froze in her chest, his lips whispering comforting words that she couldn’t understand just under her ear.

She didn’t want the moment to end – she could stay like that forever. Being held by him, bare and unafraid. Like every problem they had melted away in that single moment, turning to ash and blowing out the window.

They weren’t Batgirl, Robin, Red Robin or Spoiler anymore.

They weren’t ‘Arthur Brown’s kid’ or ‘Wayne’s new adopted son.’

They were just Tim and Stephanie.

She was the first one to move, slowly rocking her hips to the pace of her quick breathing and her swallowed moans. With this closeness this time, she could really hear him too. His sounds were lower, muffled by her neck as he whispered her name like it was a prayer. It surged her forward, making her move faster, bring her hips down harder. He leaned back to meet her hips with shallow thrusts of his own, one arm falling back to hold himself up while the other latched onto her hip with the same bruising grip he had before.

One hand dropped to rub circles over her clit, the other clawing lines of red down his chest and over his shoulder with each heavy pace increase they had.

She came first. Less Earth-shattering than the first two but still enough to make her go fuzzy and cling to him for a minute. She was close enough to hear him whisper her name when he finally reached his peak as well. It made her chest ache so she clung to him harder, kissing his cheek and neck and shoulder and everywhere she could reach until she finally pried herself away from him, oversensitivity making her twitch a little when pulled out of her.

He cleaned her up with kisses and a warm cloth, not knowing all it did was make her heart hurt worse.

He fell asleep with arms around her – she just laid there wide awake, watching the patterns on his ceiling form and vanish and form again.

One question repeating itself in her mind again and again. _Why? Why am I here? Why does it hurt?_

_Why can’t I stop thinking?_

She tried rolling over, breaking his hold and facing the shelf on the opposing wall. It was the first time she noticed a scrap of purple cloth sticking out from behind a few nick-nacks.

No. No not going there. She squeezed her eyes shut but she couldn’t stop the moments from replaying again and again.

Tim standing in front of her. Betrayed. Hurt. Both of them. _“I never want to see you in that costume again, Stephanie. In fact. I never want to_ see _you again.”_

The Batcave. _“You don’t deserve to be Batgirl. You don’t deserve to wear that symbol.”_

_“Could you try not to be useless for once?”_

_“Stop pretending to be a hero…”_

Her eyes shot open, tears already starting to well. This wasn’t going to be any different. This was just going to be the same thing over and over again.

She was going to let him down, he was going to leave. She wasn’t going to be good enough, she wasn’t going to be there enough.

He’d leave and break her heart again.

Not this time, though, never this time.

She knew it was a bad idea because her gut churned and her chest ached – but she figured she had about thirty seconds to make up her mind. Screw the bra she couldn’t find, she skipped straight to her costume, keeping as silent as she could.  
  
Twenty-Five.

She inverted the top so it looked like a plain black shirt and tied her cape around her hips. There. Now she didn’t look so much like a wayward vigilante.  
  
Twenty.

She found one boot kicked half-under the couch and the other by the door still.  
  
Fifteen.

The utility belts were the hardest. She could hide the thigh one under the make-shift skirt but the other she decided to just hold instead.  
  
Ten.

His security was easy to bypass from the inside.  
  
Five.

She made sure to reset it when she left.  
  
One.

She wondered the cameras caught her crying.

 

 


	2. Third Time's the Charm

She made it home by the time the sun had fully risen over the stretch of buildings. Long after the last of the bats and bad guys trickled to their respective beds or prison cells or wherever else they might’ve crawled from – her shoes still in her hands like a bad walk of shame.

This _was_ a walk of shame, wasn’t it? Shit. That would explain the side-eyes she got from the few people she saw on her walk back – and Stephanie thought it would be because of her puffy and red eyes.  Maybe a pity of another sort.

Angrily, she scrubbed at them again as she fished her keys out with her other hand. She wanted to shower, to sleep for a month. Her mother was working the night shift again –  night spilling over for her until around ten in the morning -- she’d taken them up more willingly once she figured out about Stephanie’s Batgirl adventures.

She said it was to keep even hours, but Stephanie knew it was because of her. She wanted to be there if a vigilante in purple and black ever rolled into the ER. Steph couldn’t blame her – not a bit. Sighing to her empty apartment, Stephanie set her boots down. The best part about her mom knowing? Not having to hide it anymore.

The boots went by the door as she padded her way across the hallway, stiffening the moment she reached her room. Her hand was on the door frame, ready to pull herself in towards her own bed when she noticed the faint creak of the floorboards behind her.

“How long have you been here?” She asked, not even turning around to face him. She could almost feel the tears starting to well again.

“You left,” He sounded… hurt.

Of course he sounded hurt, he _was_ hurt. Duh.

“Look, if I did something wrong, just tell me. I don’t want to play these games anymore,” Another creak sounded as he stepped forward no longer trying to mask his presence.

Stephanie just sighed, turning around as the cape around her fell to a puddle, “You didn’t do anything wrong, Tim. At least not tonight, so calm down and go back home.”

“Why’d you leave, then?  You know you could’ve stayed,” He was wearing his full suit. Typical. Never leave home without it, right? That was Batman’s lesson.

She wanted nothing more than to sprint the short distance and grab him again. Kiss him breathless and stupid just like he did to her just a few short hours ago. But it was wrong.

It was wrong and reckless.

“I loved you,” she admitted, eyes fixated on a stray streak of paint on the wall behind him. “A lot, when I was Spoiler and you were Robin. I mean, I _adored,_ you, Tim. Everything about you – your smile, how you laughed, how you fought. More than that, though, I trusted you.”

He started. Of course he had to start, “Stephanie, I tr-“

“No,” she cut him off, a steady burn of anger starting to well through her veins, “No you didn’t. You never trusted me, you _never_ believed in me. Don’t forget, it was _you_ who said I wasn’t good enough, it was _you_ who said I was useless and _you_ who said I shouldn’t be Batgirl.”

Was she crying? Heat trailing down her face, hand shaking beyond her control. Her breath coming in almost hiccupped gasps.

Yep. She was crying alright. What a pathetic baby, wailing at her ex-boyfriend, ugh. She sniffled, hiding her face while she tried to end the stream of tears.

She even tensed and pulled back as he tried to gently pry her fingers away from her eyes. “Come on,” he whispered, slowly increasing his strength until she did, looking up at him with blood-shot and tired eyes.

“It’s true, okay? I didn’t believe you had what it takes – but that was a long time ago. You’ve proven me wrong so many times and even once is a feat only Batman and Alfred have claims to. I was wrong to think you were anything less than a hero. Bruce saw it in you and I really don’t know how I missed it.” His finger curved under her chin, drawing her eyes up to meet his.

He looked so honest.

So real.

For a moment she almost believed him. “I saw you,” she admitted, shame starting to fill the edges of her voice. “I was gassed and I saw you.”

There was a moment, a finite second of hesitation before he pulled his hands off her. Before he stepped away and she couldn’t meet his gaze for any however-small increment of time. “Gassed?” From hurt to honest to horrified in less than ten minutes. “Like, Scarecrow-gassed? Fear Toxin?”

All she could do was nod.

“And you saw…”

“You,” she repeated, “Last year, one of my first missions as Batgirl I saw you standing there reminding me I could never, _ever_ live up to your expectations. I remember what you said. I wasn’t a good enough hero and I wasn’t a good enough girlfriend either.”

“That’s not true,” he stated definitively, “It was Crane messing with your head, and it was you messing with your own head.”

“You think I don’t know that,” she barked back, arms crossing over her chest, “I know it wasn’t real and I know it was just a projection of my own fears back at me but… but I can’t stop thinking about it whenever I think of you. I can’t stop thinking about how you told me to never wear a mask again, how you told me to quit. Tim – I just, I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

His hands jumped in the air for a moment, gesturing around, “And you didn’t think to bring this up last night?”

“I thought we could go back to how it was if I just forgot how much… how much it hurt.” Her voice hung just above a whisper.

Somewhere in the realm of near-silence, just drifting between them as a concrete look finally settled on Tim’s face. She really wished she could see his eyes though. They were the most expressive part of him, on par with his hands, of course. It was pain. Clear and simple.

This time she didn’t fight it when he cradled her face in his palms, this time she could face him damp-eyed and steady. Like the weight on her shoulders finally crumbled to dust around her.

“I wish I could take it back,” his gloved thumb chased away a stray tear, pausing before he pulled his hand back to peel his mask off with a bit of a flinch. He let the expensive tech fall to the floor with a flutter, losing the black gloves so he could hold her too, “I wish I could take back all the stuff I said – I wish I knew how to trust you back then. But I can’t. All I can do now is tell you that I adored you, Steph. I was crazy about you and I thought if I let you be the hero you wanted to be you’d end up in a grave, I should’ve known I couldn’t stop you and I should have helped you instead of just being another roadblock. We both did our fair share of growing up and our fair share of learning, and if you’re afraid you’re not going to live up to some expectation that isn’t there – don’t be. You’ve already surpassed anything anyone ever asked from you. So uh. Third time’s the charm?”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was still worried. Alarms going off with a muted apprehension as her hands reached out to cup his cheek. Her gut burned the same way it did when she was about to dive off a rooftop or burst through a window into a den of criminals. A sliver of fear sharp and cold nudging itself deep into her belly as she kissed him.

Fireworks didn’t explode, the world didn’t rock beneath their feet.

It was just a kiss.

Soft, sweet and slow. “Third time’s the charm,” she whispered, smiling against his lips.

 

 

 

 


End file.
